Birthday Present
by Seiina13
Summary: Just a little birthday present for Alfred, because he's awesome like that, and every Hero needs a birday present. America wishes that Enland would agknowlege his independance day... US/UK


**Happy Birthday, Alfred!**

** Yaaaaaaaaay…I can't believe I finished this on time. It is not yet midnight…I am surely awesome. One has an amazingly small amount of time to write fanfiction on the fourth of July. But I did it. So, yay me.**

** I own neither America, nor the UK, nor…what's his name. **

** Really, they own me. Well, America does. And the Republic of Ireland. Which does NOT belong to the UK. Go Ireland! Sorry.**

** Onward, to Narnia and the North!**

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear America, happy birthday to you!"

Silence.

"You know, it's still weird with just us, isn't it?"

"…Yeah."

America leaned back in his chair, glancing over the table to where his brother and a…polar bear…sat, one looking nostalgic and the other waiting expectantly for his cake. They all stayed silent for a moment, listening to the fireworks and cheers that echoed from all around his house. So many millions of humans celebrating him and a birthday party with one (and a half) guest(s).

Yes, there should definitely be more people at a hero's party. Really, just one more person. But he wasn't going to go there tonight.

"Hey, Al, remember back when England came, and he would yell at me for singing in French?"

He forced a smile, "He's not now. Wanna?"

"Eh? I-I don't—"

"It's my birthday, Mattie. Sing."

Canada sighed, slouching a bit before beginning again, "Joyeux anniversaire, joyeux anniversaire, joyeux anni…" his voice faded, but he was singing so quietly to begin with that it was hard to tell. "Sorry," He muttered," I never really got farther than that, anyways.

"Shaddup, Canada," Alfred turned away, staring expressionlessly at the red, white, and blue fireworks out the window, "It's not like he's shown up once in the past two hundred and thirty four years." He turned back to the table and blew out the candles. No need to make a wish. When you make the same one for over two hundred years and it never comes true, you just stop.

The more invisible brother was torn between rolling his eyes and pointing out the fact that Arthur hadn't acknowledged Alfred's birthday as anything but the day he was first colonized for hundreds of years and wasn't about to start now, and crying.

He settled for a compromise, muttering "stubborn putain," eating his cake as fast as possible (during which time the American's cake should also have disappeared, but remained untouched—not that he ever ate his own birthday cake) and fleeing with a final inaudible happy birthday.

"Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light…" Alfred sang under his breath, "What so proudly we hailed, at the twilight's last gleami—" _Knock_.

He looked up so quickly that Nantucket bobbed against his forehead. Matt had forgotten something? Or Tony was back from visting his family early? Or France was about to molest him…or Russia—he stopped himself there. Not thinking about creepy commies on his birthday night. Not that Russia was communist or anything anymore, but that didn't make him any less scary. He'd never really gotten over his whole Red Scare.

_Knock_. Right. The door. Which he opened. Closed. Opened. Blinked. Closed. Reopened. Still there. Huh, that couldn't be right. He tried one more time. Interesting. "Can I help you, Arthur?"

"That's England to you, Colony."

"America bowed deeply, gesturing him in, "Enter then, oh esteemed United Kingdom of Great Britain, Northern Ireland, and not America."

"You're an impertinent bastard, you know that?"

"Yeah, but I'm an independent impertinent bastard, so it's all good."

England snorted, crossing the threshold. They stood for a minute before the elder of the two quite nearly spat, "Did I raise you with now manners?"

"God forbid. Please, have a seat," America responded, guiding him into the living room, "Tea? Coffee? An alcoholic beverage? Soda?" He was only glared at, so he shrugged and left to put the kettle on.

He returned in about ten minutes (he'd had to dig the dusty box of Bewelys out of the cupboard and remember how to soak a teabag in the too-hot water—his hand would remember—water).

England was sitting in an armchair, fondling what looked to be a—oh, _shit_—wooden soldier. He rushed forward, snatching the toy back, "That was not what you thought it was. That was so, _totally_, not what you thought it was."

"Oh really?" That was a smirk. That was definitely a smirk. He handed the Brit his tea. And watched the—ha—eyebrows knit together as he smelled it, "Why," what a terrifyingly calm anger he had mastered, "did you just give me Irish tea?" Oh, his face was turning red, "_Irish_ tea? Are you trying to rub this in my face? After I went through all the trouble to—" he shut up, slouching back and sipping his tea distastefully.

Silence.

Which was a good thing, y'know, because the United States of Alfred was in a not-so-momentary panic. I mean, huh?

"Soooooooo," Alfred asked, just a tiny bit of southern drawl creeping into his voice as he relaxed some (probably in part, though he was loathe to admit it,) because of the tea), "what could possibly bring you here on this fine, _American_, night?" That's right, keep the hostility going and it'd all be fine.

Arthur mumbled something unintelligible into his mug.

"Sorry?" Alfred leaned forward, half concerned.

"Happy Independence Day," this time it was a mostly intelligible mumble, but still spoken into his lap.

Ohhhhhhh…so that was it. A slow smile spread across his face, "Still can't hear you, my dear Arthur, you're gonna have to speak up, y'know?"

This one was louder, clearer. And he was looking up. Mostly, "Happy Independence Day, Alfred."

That one was good. Maybe he shouldn't push him. Or maybe not. Alfred grinned wider, cocking his head towards the older nation, and pointing to his ear.

"Happy Bi—" England glanced up at his former colony's face, stood up, crossed the room, grabbed the American by the collar of that thrice-damned bomber jacket of his and shouted.

"HAPPY BLOODY FUCKING INDEPENDENCE DA—" And he was cut off. Again.

And was promptly flipped over, landing on the couch with an ecstatic American kneeling over him. And _damn_ if that boy wasn't a good kisser.

Arthur pushed him off, demanding, "Why am _I_ on the couch?"

Alfred smirked, pushing the Brit down a little further down on his back. "Because _I_ am no longer _your_ colony, _England_." Dammit, he was practically growling. "Consider it my birthday present."

"…git."

End

**Happy birthday dear the Hero….happy birthday to you.**

** NO FRENCH TRANSLATIONS ARE BEING OFFERED. Go look it up yourself if you're interested. I will not be the corrupter of young, fresh minds (HA.)**

**So…like? Review! Or just review anyways, because you're just awesome like that….**

**-Seiina**


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